Lying Dead Read Online Free Page B

in this glossy world where all that mattered was material success. This was his last throw of the dice: he’d borrowed an exorbitant amount from the business to buy Findlay Stevenson’s champion, Moss.
        Findlay, overstretched by borrowing himself, had lost his farm during the foot-and-mouth epidemic. Since then, he’d travelled the countryside with Moss, winning trials wherever he went, to boost his new business of training up working dogs and selling them. It had taken five thousand pounds to part the dog and his master.
        Niall hadn’t mentioned the loan to his business partner. Ronnie Lafferty wouldn’t react well. A Glasgow scrap metal dealer, he looked like a bullfrog and had manners to match; he had a trophy wife, the lustrous Gina, and he had no interest in anything except the bottom line. His sole reason for taking a half-share in the sailing school and marina along with Niall was that with it came automatic membership of the exclusive Drumbreck Yacht Club. He’d been turned down once before, and he hadn’t liked that one little bit.
        Niall was frankly afraid of him. Lafferty hadn’t made a fortune in his sort of business using sweet reason and goodwill, and if he found out . . . But he wouldn’t have to, Niall had reckoned; given another title to its name he could sell the dog on, probably for more than he had paid for it, in the next couple of days . . .
        The only problem was that the dog wasn’t living up to its reputation. Niall was beginning to suspect, with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, that he’d been conned. The dog must be past its best; if it couldn’t manage to put in a decent performance under these conditions – a relatively small paddock, sheep that were accustomed to being handled – what was it going to do on the full-sized trial course, with unpredictable sheep? If this was how it showed tomorrow, Moss would be practically worthless. Niall would have to kiss goodbye to the money, or rather the business would, and then what would Ronnie say?
        They’d spent a hell of a lot on expanding the marina, in the teeth of some forcible local opposition, which had cost them in planning applications and legal fees, and it was expensive to run: business had been diabolical during the foot-and-mouth and still hadn’t recovered. It was all right for the farmers, raking in the compensation now, but no one was going to sub Niall a penny. The marina was only just keeping its head above water, to coin a phrase; five thousand would make a dangerous hole in the balance sheet and if Ronnie found out he’d go berserk.
        And then there was Davina coming back as well as everything else . . . He’d thought he’d never see her again. He’d done as she asked, sent her the information she wanted eighteen months ago, but his subsequent letter to the address she’d given him was returned, marked ‘Gone away’. After that, nothing – until now.
        But he couldn’t afford to think about her, not until tomorrow was over. Until then he had to be totally focused. He must practise, practise and practise again. Niall squared his shoulders and immediately the dog, which had been lying watching him warily, sat up pricking the ear that wasn’t permanently pricked. A gesture brought it to his side.
        The five sheep were clustered at the bottom of the paddock, dropping their heads and grazing now. With another gesture, Niall sent the dog on the outrun, meant to gather up the sheep and drive them calmly towards him through one of the sets of gateposts he had constructed in the middle of the field.
        The dog took off, fast and low to the ground, making a wide, sweeping arc to bring itself round behind the sheep. It was well done: the sheep hadn’t noticed it yet. They were still grazing and the trick was to lift them and begin the drive without alarming them. Cupping his hands, Niall gave an imperative whistle, then as the dog seemed to him too slow to respond,